The Rebelling
by TheArtist67
Summary: I heard screams day and night, people who didn't fit what my father wanted. The people that fit his image were perfectly capable of everything he wanted. I was allowed to keep two males and one woman as slaves. No one in the group I was looking at stuck out specifically to me, but three. Jace, Isabelle, and Alec. All were what my father didn't approve of. Everyone needs freedom.
1. Chapter 1

I heard screams day and night, people who didn't fit what my father wanted. It was horrible. Of course, my father never did any of the dirty work and no one really accused him except for the people discriminated against.

The people that fit his image were perfectly capable of everything at birth, red or pale blonde hair, black or green eyes. No one really noticed that it fit my family's perfect image.

I was allowed to keep two males and one woman as slaves, the rest were killed.

Recently, all of my workers had died- shocker right?

Blood covered the concrete, in small specks. People were screaming protests as they were dragged away from their families. I grit my teeth, resisted to slam the Shadowhunters – my father's soldiers – heads into the brick wall.

A woman reached out for her children and a Shadowhunter tripped her and she scraped her chin. She screamed their names, flailing to stand again. Her male children were dragged away from her in soldier's arms kicking legs before they both fell completely limp.

"Was that really necessary?" I blurted out, before almost smacking myself in the face. The soldier narrowed his eyes at me.

"Valentine's kid," his comrade hissed in the soldier's ear, "you wouldn't want to hurt that one."

The soldier slammed his steel-toed boot on my toes and I heard them give a sickening crunch on the bare skin. I cried out, grasping my aching foot.

The woman took her opportunity, sprinting towards her children, screaming their names. She shoved over the men carrying her unconscious children, the kids falling out of their arms. She did a kick to his stomach, sending flying the man to the brick wall.

Someone injected the woman with a tranquilizer and she dropped. Dragged away like an animal.

"Watch your mouth, idiot," the soldier roughly shoved me to the side, causing me to stub my broken toes on the wall. I hissed before limping away, pain throbbing as I walked the plain, bloody sidewalk.

Hodge greeted me with a smile. "These are the youngest, Miss, that are around your age of course."

All but three were looking at me with round, pleading eyes. The men were all decently stocky, but their whimpering said they were anything but strong. The women were quaking on their bare feet, showing fear. My servants couldn't show fear, something my father or brother would never understand. My mother does.

I examined the three with straight backs, all resuming relaxed postures. They knew they would be put to work in a camp long before death.

The boys were absolutely captivating, but one shown like sunlight and the other was absolutely dark. The sunny one was completely golden, eyes and all, his stance ready for anything. The other one was slightly shorter, black hair and dark blue eyes that caught my gaze. Both boys locked their jaws as they studied me, standing up straighter. I shot them a smirk.

I bit my fingernails thoughtfully as I studied the girl. She was absolutely beautiful, but obviously knew it. My women servants were always people I was able to talk to easily, telling them my opinions of the war without them blurting it to my father. Always very trustworthy. She had long black hair, reaching her waist. It would all be shaved off if she went to a camp. She studied me with somewhat welcoming dark brown eyes that were guarded.

"Hodge," I snapped, "those three." I pointed in their general direction.

He smiled slightly. Hodge wasn't my father's perfect image but he kept true Idrians. Hodge was one. "I knew you would want those three Clarissa. That's why I singled them out."

I laughed politely, quite aggravated actuality. "You know me too well Hodge."

I snapped my fingers at the three and they followed obediently and gracefully.

"You aren't going to lock us up?" The black haired boy asked quietly, a dark edge to his silky voice.

"Of course not," I said simply, striding out of the rotten smelling tent with pride. "That's cruel punishment. I don't believe that humans that fight for their countries are animals. But I do punish. Don't put that past me, not even for a moment."

The golden boy glared at me. "Whippings? Caning? Punches? Surely a girl like you wouldn't _dare_ to get her hands dirty."

I licked my lips, a smirk creeping up slowly on my face. No one was ever this defiant. "Oh but you underestimate me. No that's my father who absolutely hates to have blood on his hands. In the literal sense, not metaphorically. He absolutely _loves_ metaphors."

I threw the girl a wink and she shook her head slightly, disapproval not shown on her face in the slightest.

I stopped in front of the fence. Conversation had been completely quiet as Shadowhunters beat people on the streets. I would be punished being caught conversing politely with my servants.

"You all," I snapped, pointing at the girl, "Tell me your names, alphabetical order, first and last."

My father was unlocking the fence, on his white horse. The golden boy had his teeth gritted and hatred clearly written across his face.

The dark boy spoke first. "My name is Alec Lightwood." His voice was weak, but I knew his precious little act.

"Speak up when I talk to you boy!" I snarled. I cradled his cheek with one hand before smacking my hand with the other, both hands as quick as lightning. Alec's head snapped to the side as if I had actually slapped him.

I turned back around. Father was watching me cautiously. Golden boy's posture was too defiant for Father, he was watching him closely, eyes narrowed.

I turned again towards the other two. I shot a glare in the boy's direction. He slowly slumped under my heated gaze.

"Isabelle Lightwood," The raven-haired girl said, her voice loud, but cautious. An act. I had to tell myself repeatedly that this was an act, they weren't actually afraid of me.

"Thank you," I snarled. "Tell your dumb brother to _speak up_ next time."

Alec's face considerably paled against his dark hair.

Jace licked his lips, his face turned at the ground. His posture was still tense, _too tense._ "My name is Jace Herondale."

My father froze in watching us. His eyes widened considerably, any wider they would've fallen out of their sockets.

"Mr. Herondale," my father growled. "Come with me."

I stepped up to him. I was the only one in my family who wasn't afraid of him. Even my mother was or she'd be long gone. "_Its_ my slave. I will decide what to do with it."

My father's hand was fast. I didn't process the slap until my head whipped to the side and I cried out, pain filling my cheek.

"You're already in trouble Clarissa, don't make it worse," my father slapped.

I just felt my leg move upward slightly. Not enough to reach my father right? Wrong. I hit him right where it hurts. He cried out, falling limp on the sidewalk.

My mouth dropped in shock. I had just _kicked_ my father! My own father. He quickly got up and as he went in for a punch but something blocked my face. It wasn't me because I didn't feel anything, process anything. A body slumped to the ground, purely golden.

I heard a loud crack as my father continually kicked him. Jace didn't even cry out.

"_Stop!_" I thought the voice came from Isabelle, but my throat felt raw and my mouth had been moving the words.

My mother stumbled down the steps. She'd shouted the word. I realized my throat felt raw because of the tears I was shedding, and I had just been whimpering the word stop.

My mother placed her hands gently on _his_ back. I didn't have a word for that thing I used to call my father. Ass? That would just get me in more trouble.

"Why don't you just leave for a few days love?" My mother's voice was smooth and melodic. I could see the pain on her face as she helped Jace up. My mother turned towards me. "Clarissa, why don't you take them to their homes? Get them the decorations for their rooms and have them do whatever they want. Take this dear boy to Miss Matilda."

My mother was a kind woman. I assumed she married my father to keep him in check. Behind all the love for her friends and true family, I could see hatred aimed towards my father and brother in her beautiful green eyes. She tucked a piece of auburn hair behind her ear. She assisted my father to placing him on the white stallion. "I'll see in a few days my dear." She stepped on my father's foot, giving him a kiss on the cheek, rubbing it somehow affectionately.

I shook my frizzy red curls around my head, guiding Jace to the infirmary. It was never used and Matilda was asleep on the desk. I didn't blame her. My father's slaves only got three hours of sleep.

I shook her gently awake. "Hey Matilda, we've got you a patient."

Her eyelids fluttered open and she offered me a soft smile. She stunk, all of my father and brother's slaves did. My mother's and mine were freshly washed every night.

"Good afternoon Miss Clary," she said gently, standing, stretching her arms, yawning.

Matilda used to be beautiful. With soft and shiny and long brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes pretty smooth voice and gentle. Tan skin and soft pink lips and a gentle nose, she was once so pretty.

"I will have him fixed up in thirty minutes, Clary," Matilda said quickly. "I understand you need him for something.

"You don't have to hurry Matty," I said, my voice sweet. "Take your time and have an actual conversation. Jonathan is gone to battle with Holland and Father has just left."

Matilda offered me a sweet smile and I grinned as well.

I turned away, motioning Isabelle and Alec after me. "Alec, these are you're headquarters. You are to work from eight in the morning to eight at night, with breaks when I bring you food. A list will be beside your bedside telling you what to do for the day."

I left him; his shoulders slumped and refused to turn back, guiding Isabelle away from the cabins.

Isabelle looked at me with polite curiosity. "Miss Clary, where are my cabins?"

I smiled softly at her. "You stay with me Isabelle."

I gave no further conversation, trailing a hand lightly across the stonewall, walking up the stairs in the thirteen story mansion.

The corridors were long and twisty with little light, only guided by lanterns.

I walked to the forth story, turning briskly inside the last door on the corridor. I slammed the wooden door shut.

My room was much more colored than the rest of the mansion. My mother's art room was the only place where she could be creative, but the room right next to me was my pure creative area.

My walls were a bright a light grey for five feet before hitting a darker grey for one foot then a turquoise streak that was six inches before another section of darker grey then three feet of light grey with paintings hanging up all around the room. Candles were placed neatly on my desk, lit right next to books and sketchbooks piled and scattered messily across the turquoise dresser. The bed was white with two pillows monogrammed with CAM printed across two in turquoise. The blanket sitting at the end was folded directly in half and a turquoise. The floor was wooden. Another dresser actually held my clothes was white. A grey seat was pushed under the desk. A tall lamp stood in the corner of my room next to another dresser.

"Wow," Isabelle whispered. I smiled slightly. I had decorated the room by myself, carrying the heavy furniture up the stairs and all.

I motioned Isabelle to follow me into her chambers. The last girl had been into neon colors, the black walls splattered painted. A lime green bed was propped against the wall in the middle of the room and a large blue dresser with a mirror was across the room. Isabelle wrinkled her nose.

"I never liked it much either," I murmured, "but she did."

Isabelle nodded slightly, setting her small suitcase down slightly and looking at it with a tortured look. My heart tugged at her sorrowful expression, as if remembering the things she once had. She shook her head slightly, sitting down on the bed.

"We'll go shopping tomorrow," I told her quietly. "You and your brothers will have time to adjust and you can come with me. Now lets go get you washed up.

As she let go of the suitcase, it fell to the ground; a letter flitted out, the paper worn from being read so often. I cocked an eyebrow slightly. She blushed.

"It was from my boyfriend, Simon," she whispered. "Before he left. I don't even know his whereabouts. He told me he loved me before he left and I didn't–" a choked sob ripped out of her throat painfully – "I didn't tell him I loved him. He just left."

I always saw the result of losing people in my slaves, but Isabelle was a lucky one. She actually had my sympathy. Somehow.

But I didn't let her see my pitiful stare, I just turned away and marched towards the bathroom, telling her how to use the shower and hopefully she wouldn't drown herself.

Not that's happened before – note the sarcasm.

**Not so much a cliffhanger. **

**So for those of you who actually **_**care**_** about my other stories, then here's the schedule for them.**

**The 1****st**** and 3****rd**** Monday of a month- **_**So Close but So Far**_** (Mortal Instruments)**

**The 1****st**** and 4****th**** Tuesday- **_**The Battle of the Angels**_** (The Mortal Instruments)**

**The 2****nd**** and 3****rd**** Thursday- **_**The Savior**_** (Divergent Trilogy)**

**The 2****nd**** and 4****th**** Friday- **_**You Wouldn't Understand **_** (Mortal Instruments)**

**The 3****rd**** and 4****th**** Saturday- **_**The Experimentation **_**(Mortal Instruments**

**The 1****st**** and 2****nd**** Sunday- **_**The Rebelling **_**(Mortal Instruments)**

** In the 5****th**** week, **_**The Experimentation **_**and **_**The Savior **_**will be updated. **


	2. Chapter 2

I slumped back on my comfortable, squishy bed. I heard the water running and quiet singing.

My mother would be up here in thirty minutes to tell me dinner was ready. Until then, I would sketch.

As I began to get up, the bedroom door slammed open. I flinched.

Jonathan stood there with a dark glower on his face. Jace was in his hand, dragged by a leg, fresh cuts on his face.

I froze, staring at Jace. He was unconscious and Isabelle was shutting the water off.

"What the hell!" I cried.

Jonathan spit at my feet and I stared at him in shock. "Why were his wounds being bind, healed? Matilda's dead, for your information."

The bathroom door busted open and Isabelle screamed, a long towel wrapped around her waist. "Jace!" she screamed.

Her black hair was tied back in a bun, her face washed of dirt. She was truly beautiful.

"I knew you treated these things specially," Jonathan snarled, lunging at me.

I stumbled back into the desk, hitting my head. "Get off!" I cried, flailing.

He punched my face, and then gripped my neck. "You're a dishonor to the family."

I gagged and then Jonathan was suddenly thrown off. Isabelle stood, anger on her face.

She round house kicked his stomach and he flew backwards, slumping into the wall. As he lunged at her, she did a backhand spring onto the bed, landing gracefully.

Jonathan flew at her and Isabelle kicked him in the throat.

I looked over at Jace. If Isabelle moved back anymore, he'd be in line of target. I groaned quietly as I stood but Jonathan was too wrapped up in his fight with Isabelle to notice.

Isabelle was tackled to the ground, hitting her head on the wall as she flew backward. She cried out with pain, gripping the back of her head.

I picked Jace up by the armpits as I saw a flash of red by the door.

Mother was standing by the door, fuming. "Jonathan, get your little ass out of Clarissa's bedroom and do not touch them ever again."

Jonathan's black eyes glared severely at my mother. I was worried my mother was next, but my brother exited the bedroom in a fury.

My mother kneeled down next to me. "Clary, dear, you're bleeding." I knew that. I had gagged blood multiple times by the stupid broken nose.

Isabelle had lost the towel and her arm was at an awkward angle. But I wasn't really focused on my slave at the moment. "Mom, Jon killed Matilda."

I didn't realize I was crying until my mother ran her padded thumb gently across my cheek. "I know honey. Oh God, I know."

I let out a sob, wrapping myself in her warm arms. Jace groaned in the corner of the room.

"We need to get out of here," I whispered. "Dad, he's insane, and I _hate_ Jonathan."

My mother nodded. "In time my dear. I promise we'll leave as soon as we can. Next month at the latest. Be prepared to leave. We need something against your father so he can be arrested. Cameras will be set up everywhere. We'll get out."

"No Mom," I whispered. "I _can't_ stay. Maybe you can, but I'm leaving at this instant."

"Clary, you can't," my mother said and I stared at her in disbelief. It was as if she didn't _want_ to leave. But I knew she did. Right?

If she didn't, I had no one left to trust.

Then again, whom could I trust? My mother wasn't on the list.

I don't think she ever was.

I finished binding Jace's wounds and I led him away.

"Clary," he whispered. "I'm not really your slave am I?"

I shook my head, not in a way of neglect. It was a complex question. He was formally my slave, formally. But in actuality, you didn't treat slaves like they were humans. You treated them like they were property, and I refused to treat even animals in that way.

"Technically, you are," I said. "But personally, I don't really think you are. I don't think that humans should be treated in such a way."

He licked his lips, looking at the ground, making the bruise on his right cheek stand out even more in the setting sun. "I'm glad one of you in the Morgenstern family has their head screwed on straight."

I don't know why, but anger coursed through my body in a series of furious waves. Maybe it was because my mother was considered a Morgenstern, but I felt like sticking up for my family.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I snapped, my feet coming to a stand still.

Jace looked at me with a mixture of confusion and disbelief on his face. "I heard the conversation between you and you're mother. Clary, she wants to stay with you're father. She cares for him and you're just too naïve to see it."

I shook my head, tears pooling into my eyes. "Jace, she _hates _him. I can't believe you don't see it."

Jace shook his head and his hand was suddenly cupping my slightly less bruised cheek. "There's a fine line between love and hate, Clary. Maybe she actually loves him."

Something snapped in me. I shoved his arm off my cheek and turned away. My mother wouldn't betray me, she couldn't.

Maybe it_ wasn't _an act. Maybe she just hated the way he was acting as of the moment. Maybe she was just searching for hope somewhere inside of him.

I walked over the beautiful bridge that surrounded me, made purely out of stone. It was over a vast river, about the length of a football field.

I entered the gothic building. Jace didn't understand. Maybe at first look it would seem like she loved my father but from the person who was around my mother for their entire life, you could tell she hated him.

But what if that was an act too? My mother seemed to be perfectly innocent, not knowing how to fight… but today - today she frightened me.

I bit down on my lip as I climbed the seven stories alone. I felt bruised and weak, but nonetheless, kept walking. I slammed the door to my bedroom behind me, dropping to the floor dramatically.

Isabelle sat on my bed; her arm in messed up sling. She silently got up, making her way over to me. She gripped my arm gently, forcing me up and maneuvered me over to the bed.

She opened a dresser drawer and picked up a brush. She ran it soothingly through my tangled hair.

"My mother used to do this to me when I was little," she said. "I always found it so comforting that someone was there for me to take care of me and I didn't have to do it all on my own."

I couldn't say the same. My mother loved and cherished me, but she never showed it. She wanted me to be her strong little soldier and never need anyone.

"My mother didn't," I said bitterly. "The most we ever did together was art."

Isabelle sorted out a tangle, using her nimble fingers. I didn't know how she was so strong and not crying out when she used the unstable sling.

"My mother believed to be strong, you have to lean on something, someone to make you strong. You can't do it all on your own," Isabelle said quietly. She had stopped brushing and was laying me gently down in bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. "She wanted me to be the strongest woman out there."

My mother never influenced me at all really, except teaching me that what my father and brother did was wrong.

"Clary?" Isabelle questioned. "I think you're not so strong, very weak, in love I mean. You're so precautious but naïve at the same time. Maybe if you just let yourself be _you_ at some point, you won't feel that way."

I shook my head. "I don't even know who I am."

"Then find her. And be her. Not what your father and mother want to be. Your own person. That's what my mother used to say. People are wrong Clary, don't let yourself be influenced."

She left the room briskly, shutting the door to her room quietly.

I fell asleep peacefully that night.

**I just had to have some Isabelle and Clary bonding! Tell me your favorite part in a review and your least favorite part and what I can improve on. I'm very strong and understand people's critical sides so you don't have to sugar coat it.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the character except for Matilda. The rest belong to Cassandra Clare.**

**See you next month!**

** Be sure to check out my other stories!**


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